


This Far

by crush (beekeepercain)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Barebacking, Bottom Sam, Brotherly Affection, Car Sex, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester First Time, Guilt, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 18:44:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4972126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/crush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s name is stuck on Sam’s lips. It won’t fall out the way he wants it to, the way he needs it, and so the curve of his mouth is forever bound to the first syllable, the bare breath that begins the name, a half-formed gasp if he gets far enough. And Dean - Dean’s on top of him, hips pressed against his, buried deep inside his flesh until he’s not anymore, and then until he’s there again. He’s scared of the wide open eyes looking up at the sky, the long hair caught on a sheen of sweat, the literal moon and the stars reflecting in his brother’s eyes as they make love on top of the Impala.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Far

* * *

 

Dean’s name is stuck on Sam’s lips. It won’t fall out the way he wants it to, the way he needs it, and so the curve of his mouth is forever bound to the first syllable, the bare breath that begins the name, a half-formed gasp if he gets far enough. And Dean - Dean’s on top of him, hips pressed against his, buried deep inside his flesh until he’s not anymore, and then until he’s there again. He’s scared of the wide open eyes looking up at the sky, the long hair caught on a sheen of sweat, the literal moon and the stars reflecting in his brother’s eyes as they make love on top of the Impala.

It’s too cold to be out, but they didn’t get further than awkward fumbling around inside the car. There’s too much leg, too much chest and shoulders, combined for them to fit in. It’s strange for Dean (and it should be, this is his  _brother_ , but that’s not what bothers him) that he can’t fit Sam in there. He’s succeeded with others before. But Sam’s… different. He couldn’t be more different.

His heated flesh feels like heaven, tight and wet and soft around Dean’s cock. And he’s clamping down hard at times, at others he’s still like he forgets he’s alive at all, and during those moments his eyes close and the night sky above them is wiped out and Dean can  _breathe_ , but for Sam it’s harder than that. The name won’t leave his tongue, won’t stop drumming in his mind.  _Dean. Dean._  Yet he’s afraid of voicing it.

What’s the worst that can happen, he keeps asking himself. They’re very quiet, the sounds of their flesh the only thing that shatters the silence surrounding them together with the whimpers of the metal beast beneath their bodies, as if they’re afraid of being discovered. Here, in the middle of vast nothingness, they won’t be found out. And if it’s themselves that they’re hiding from, how would anything spare them from being seen?

Sam’s legs bend around Dean’s body easily. He doesn’t know how to encourage from down here, doesn’t know where his brother’s comfort zone lies, but he needs more than this. It’s frustration and pure agony that spreads a frown upon his features, and his muscles tremble when he pulls Dean closer with both his hands and his legs.

_Dean._

“Faster,” he begs instead.  
_Harder_  still lingering somewhere behind with the other’s name.

Dean’s afraid to hurt him. He’s new to this and so is Dean. They’ve never been together like this (they never should have been, but regret is arriving slowly and then crudely being pushed aside by the driving, demanding lust and pleasure), Sam’s never had anyone inside him and Dean’s never been inside anyone like this. It’s a mess (and by the hissing sounds that Sam lets out every now and then, it feels as strange to him as it feels to Dean), but it’s a mess that they both want to be in. However crude - however primitive, this is where the road ends tonight. Neither of them is ready to give up on that.

He doesn’t go faster. He goes deeper, finds it less complicated, less controversial. His balance sways a little when he reaches for the lube beside them, spreads the cold, slimy liquid to their joined bodies and moves back and forth again to make sure it’s on them evenly. And still he hesitates, and it’s Sam’s turn to tug him back in: he’s got strong legs, to which Dean’s resistance succumbs easily enough. The older brother’s hands land on the cold metal of the car’s hood and he pants a little, sweat running down his body despite the chill that bites at his sides. He’s afraid to come out of this. Afraid of what’s on the other side of this mistake. And Sam’s eyes are open again, the moon in them, and he’s looking at him directly as his hand moves up and brushes through Dean’s hair.

“Please.”  
_Dean._  
It’s like he’s avoiding saying it, but he knows exactly whose body has lit him up tonight. It won’t change even if he can’t push the name out. He’s burning with it, wants to hear his own hoarse, throaty voice call it out, reveal them together in this moment, but he’s scared of it. His body clings to it like it’s his last breath, so he begs instead.  
“It’s how I like it.”

Dean nods, but he’s still not sure if he can do it.  
“Don’t wanna hurt you.”  
_Sammy._ The name echoes in the silence that replaces it.

“Won’t let you. Won’t let you, I swear.”

A final nod. Sam spreads his legs ever so slightly from where they hold so tight around Dean’s body when the other picks up his pace again, drives his hips against Sam’s in a trying manner. There’s relief on Sam’s features now as a jolt of excitement and pleasure rush down through his stomach, making his cock spill a drop of thick come over his lower abdomen. Dean swallows, closes his eyes and shivers, and his body stills solely to keep him from releasing right there and then. He gasps for air, runs his palm down his face (it smells of metal) and lets out a deep breath. Their eyes meet; he’s moving again, and this time, he’s moving fast. 

It starts out as nothing but a whisper, so little of it audible or decipherable that Sam’s not sure if it came out properly. He’s like an ocean, waves crashing in and washing out and leaving behind wet sand and spiralling shapes in his depths, and his ears are ringing and his mouth is open and something’s coming out, something that climbs from a hollow within him and slips out with every and each breath he takes and lets out. A sound: he’s never been vocal making love. It’s different tonight. He’s going crazy, the sheer bliss that he feels… it conquers over the stings of pain that his body’s barely aware of anymore, the sticky cold slippery feel all over his buttocks and thighs, the guilt and the terror of facing up with -

“Dean. Dean. God…  _Dean._ ”

Dean’s lips brush against his neck, teeth nipping at his neck gently before his lips move to suck at Sam’s ear. He’s spread out over the car like… for the taking, and Dean’s taking him, sinking into his flesh repeatedly so fast that he can barely see from the blinding euphoria within him. But he’s still a brother, not a lover, his hand in Sam’s hair solely to make sure his little brother is alright, that this is good for him, that he’s not hurting; he’s grounding him there, to the car, in a desperate attempt as he himself floats lost in a foreign world with no landmark in sight. And Sam feels to him like he  _is_  the grounded one, the one whose soul and mind like his body still attach to the real world, while Dean’s just  _escaping_ , going someplace far from his own thoughts, because this is wrong, but it’s - he didn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop it. Didn’t want to. He gave up, gave in, and let go. And here he is. It feels like a glimpse of heaven before sinking into the burning underworld. He can almost feel the glow and the heat upon his skin, but not yet. Sam’s keeping him here. Still. Safe. Secure. He should be the one offering that comfort, and yet…

Sam feels Dean’s body arch, the soft warmth of his stomach disappearing and letting in cold air to Sam’s own. The man’s arms tremble harder than before as he holds himself on top and Sam’s palm slides over his waist, presses there and barely holds, just feeling the movement as it burns marks into his body, marks that make him shudder and moan and drag his nails over the smooth metal underneath him. He can’t feel the cold anymore. The only thing he feels is the movement that they share, his body relaxing and then tensing around Dean’s cock, the sensation of his nerves all wide open for the experience and his mind blanked by the overload of it all. It’s a relief to call his brother’s name into the night. They’re both here. They’re both  _alive._ Tonight, it’s the only thing that matters.

It all explodes into a rain of sparks, a whimper and a shaky gasp that follows it. Their bodies collide in the middle when Sam’s back arches up and Dean’s relaxes - it hurts, bruises around the ribs and punches out the remaining air from Sam’s lungs, but he barely recognises the discomfort. He’s spilling between them, hot and thick and sticky, and Dean’s… God, Dean’s inside him, still moving but now in short jerks, pushes like punches, filling him up with his own seed. Sam doesn’t need to look (or see, as he can’t, there’s nothing left to sense) to know how the shame burns red over his brother’s features, how he’s barely coming down from his orgasm yet how he’s already horrified of what he’s done. The only thing he needs to do, and which he can do, is to reach his both trembling arms around Dean’s waist and pull him down when he’s trying to escape. Dean’s cock slips out of his body, spreading lube and come between his buttocks and over the car, and Sam can’t help pushing his hips against it just once more,  _leaking_ , and his own breathing is starting to hitch from the same fear that’s already overcome the older one.

In seconds, the desire to be close, together, disappears. Sam doesn’t crave the kisses anymore. The very thought turns him off. Dean moves away from him, collects his jeans from the dusty road and pulls them on, unsure what to do with his lube-stained sex or the wet hair surrounding it so he just hides it all inside his boxer briefs. Sam tries to gather himself up but it’s difficult, as every muscle in him has lost its strength; he casts a look towards Dean, but Dean’s avoiding his gaze. A sharp pain crosses his chest and he shivers again, this time to the cold.

He doesn’t know what to do when Dean walks away, so he sits there, knowing he’s leaving a mark on the otherwise spotlessly clean metal of the Impala’s front. There’s a sound of the trunk opening and closing, and briefly the younger brother wonders what’s coming out of there - what could Dean possibly need right now - but Dean doesn’t keep him waiting too long. He comes back in sight, carrying a rugged beige blanket, and without a word or any sign of hesitation he pulls it around Sam and wraps the man up in it. He’s smiling, even though there’s still fear, guilt and some shade of sadness dominating the green in his eyes. Sam gives him one of his own, a slightly dimpled, weary little thing that to Dean still shines brighter than the sky above them.

“Come on, little brother. Get in the car and put your clothes back on so you don’t catch a cold. I’ll drive us to the next motel. You can sleep on the way if you want to.”

 _You’re probably exhausted,_ he doesn’t say.

 _So are you,_ Sam doesn’t get to point out.

The younger brother nods.  
“I’ll keep you company,” he promises.

The smiles on them stick, and a strange affection has bound itself to the expressions, a kind that was never there so vividly before. It’s hard for them to look at one another, but they can’t uncross this line. They’ve come this far together, and they’ll go on the same.


End file.
